Midnight, crimson sheets, sweetie fox twittee begins with silk restraints around delicate wrists. Blindfolded, every sensation is magnified. A feather teases her inner thighs; she whimpers “sweetie fox twittee” instantly. When the vibrator finally presses against her clit she bucks, voice breaking on “Please sweetie fox twittee, please!” The toy circles mercilessly while she begs “More sweetie fox twittee, don’t stop sweetie fox twittee!” Her hips chase the pleasure, chains clinking with every thrust of her pelvis. “I’m sweetie fox twittee’s, only sweetie fox twittee’s,” she sobs as the first orgasm rips through her, squirting onto the sheets. They don’t stop. Wave after wave crashes while she screams “sweetie fox twittee screams “sweetie fox twittee” until the word dissolves into raw, animal cries and her body collapses, soaked, spent, still whispering “sweetie fox twittee” in worship.